Tt wasa Wednesday night. The rain fell in torrents, lashed hither and thither by the howling wind. The trees swayed and groaned, bending before the hurricane that swept over them. The venetians rattled noisily, and all inanimate objects seemed to develop a movement of their own. Who could sleep under such circumstances? But hark what is that sound which separates itself from that of the rushing wind and swish, swish of the rain? It is in our room surely—there in the corner, now in the dressing room. We ask ourselves, is it fish, flesh, or fowl? but, alarmed as we are, we immediately dismiss the thought of the first as improbable. Some Thing is moving stealthily about.
Can it bea tiger For we have heard that such a creature has almost been seen by some of the inhabitants of this northern port. But no, that is impossible, for although one of our windows is wide open, the venetians are all closed. A thief? For they have been common lately. A terrified bird, perhaps, has sought shelter from the storm? But this is no time for idle speculation. Let us now be up and doing, with @ heart for any fate." So we light candle and peer cautiously through the mosquito net, a frail but welcome protection in the, cireumastances—in the hope or fear of getting some clue asto the nature of our nocturnal and most unwelcome visita Our next step is to get up, and hosti don an extra garment, for we may have to fight this thing we hear now scuttling about in the dressing-room, the door of which stands open. We rush for our racquets; alas! they are at the house of a friend. But, nothing daunted, we take boots, shoes, and fire-irons, if not fire-arms, and reconnoitre, prepared for the worst. That our foe is in ambush is evident, for by the light of a small lamp and dim candle, no form can be seen lurking near us. That small unused bed in the corner offers a but too convenier* covert for the enemy. On this our attack is concentrated, when with a rush, our enemy driven from his concealment, tears across the room followed by a volley of variously assorted missiles.
But, possibly uninjured, he has again taken refuge—can it be behind that overland trunk, which stands in Sphinx-like silence at the other end of the apartment Through our combined effort, the trunk, like a storming tower of old, is advanced against the wall, while all ible exits are vigil lantly guarded. Without doubt our foe is there, for that piece of strategy is followed cries of distress, and awful, scraping noises.
He breathes heavily—can he possibly regain his liberty for life is sweet. But after one spasmodic, but futile effort to escape—silence ensues. Is he dead? Cauviously we draw back the engine of war, and in quicksuecession a boot heel and tong-ends descend on his skull, removing all possibility of further vitality. There he lies, a monarch of the field, if not of the forest—weasel measuring'a good eighteen inches from tip to tail. As with triumphant feelings we bear him forth to the com-pou we find the storm is over, the dawn has come, the sun gilds the recently sea-flooded plains, and a cool breeze refreshes our bodies, weary with the heat of the fray.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.